Time seems to be moving fast, and not in a good way. The women’s march, and its attendant euphoria, is less than two weeks ago, but the news has moved on. I’ve been flush with activism and events, and this morning I’m staying home. I want to respect the march not just as a flash in the pan but as something historic I was honored to share with me friend Devon. Here is her report below.
“For over 20 years I prayed to God for justice, but I received no answer until I prayed with my feet.” — Frederick Douglass
I was too young for Woodstock, too young to demonstrate after Dr. King and RFK were killed, and too young to go to DC by myself to protest Viet Nam (parents were not “political” in that way). I did demonstrate locally, and I wore a black armband EVERYWHERE from the day we went into Cambodia until we more or less officially left. I stopped saying the Pledge of Allegiance in 9th grade when it dawned on me that I was pledging my body and soul to a piece of cloth. I stopped singing the National Anthem about the same time and only sang it again for a while after my god-son was killed in Afghanistan 5 years ago, but I can’t keep singing it any longer, and I’m pretty sure Will would understand.
I did march against nuclear weapons in NYC in the ‘80s. There were half a million of us then. I know what half a million feels like. There were more of us than that in DC. Many, many more. All, in one sense or another (atheist and religious and every shade in between) praying with our feet.
It hasn’t taken very long for our new President to enact vengeful executive orders. Nor has it taken long for fights to start among the various constituencies of the no-Trump wing. The march was too white, and the only reason there were no arrests is that there weren’t enough black people marching to set the cops on edge. There were too many vulgar signs. There were too many causes. I will pass over in silence the generally uninformed and nasty responses from those who didn’t approve of the march in the first place. I’m too busy watching chunks of my family break each others’ hearts over this election.
My crew wasn’t close enough in for me to say whether the DC police showed up in riot gear. I do know that they had the equine cops out, but only used them to clear the way for ambulances. And that the DC cops took down the barriers they’d erected when it became clear that there were many more than the 500,000 they’d planned for, and the Metro did a much better job at the end of the day than at the beginning, when they were overrun. Did all this courtesy happen because we weren’t a BLM march? Almost certainly. Is that okay? Absolutely not.
I confess that the extent to which my radicalism/progressivism has been dominantly that of a privileged white feminist—one of those “Seven Sisters Dykes” Steve Bannon thought he was insulting when he used the phrase. I went to Mt. Holyoke, I’m white, Protestant, and my father was a dentist. I’m also straight. The only real understanding I have of what it means to be a minority—someone judged automatically/autonomically on the basis of my surface–comes from being fat. If that’s 1% of what it’s like to be any of the things I am not, it sucks, breath by breath.
Here’s what I know about The Women’s March: it was not about white, straight women. Some of us surely haven’t awakened fully to the issues of intersectionality, and it’s true that I was thinking pretty hard about my white grandchildren when I decided to march. But the signs were overwhelmingly, about an un-boundaried, aware feminism. So, while my daughter took pictures, I wrote down what was on signs. I’ve seen pictures of wonderful, witty, fierce, pointed signs at the DC march and others, but these were my favorites from among those I actually saw in DC, starting with my own:
What if we’re right? (Lots of folks took pix of it, but I haven’t seen it show up anywhere, still, it’s the question I most want to hear Trump voters answer.)
Black Lives Matter (carried by white men and women)
This is NOT normal.
F**K ALL the –isms that brought us here (surrounded by smaller stickers covering everything from climate change to… well everything DJT hates and plans to crush)
Basic Bitches for Basic Rights.
Hello, I’m white and privileged. (on an enlarged name-tag design)
(over a picture of General Leia) Women belong in the Resistance.
(enormous anatomically correct 3-d uterus)
I CAN BE PRESIDENT (held by a small black girl)
..all the yard signs lining East Capital with quotations from the non-bland-ed MLK—hundreds of them. East Capital was the street on which we walked from the busses parked at RFK stadium in to the march. Residents and church ladies cheered and thanked us all along the 2 miles.
Muslims support Justice & Equality for All.
Feminist with a To-Do List.
…the group of blind marchers following a sighted guide carrying sleigh bells.
I hate crowds & I resent having to be here for this in 2017.
Trump is a Slytherin.
A Girl has no President (superimposed on a picture of Arya).
I met God. She’s Black.
I’m with her (many variations on this one, all with arrows pointing in every direction).